The largest currency denomination in Cape Verde bears her face, the airport in her home island of Sao Vicente is named after her. There are constant reminders of her legacy wherever you walk – her voice blaring in restaurants, pictures of her, paintings everywhere.

A Cape Verdean friend jokes, “Our passports have a map of Cape Verde as most airport officials did not believe it was a real country, but ever since Cize became world famous, people now know that this is a real country.”

Cesaria Evora, affectionately referred to by locals as Cize was not your typical African heroine. She’s remembered in her island country 400 miles from Dakar, Senegal in West Africa, as much for her haunting voice that got her the name of the Queen of Mornas (a Cape Verdean musical and dance genre,) as she is for her rebellious resilient spirit.

Evora famously refusing to perform in shoes the first time she was invited to perform at Gremio Recreativo, one of the fanciest establishments in the island of Sao Vicente at the time. This earned her the nickname, The Barefoot Diva, and she continued to always perform without shoes on, proudly proclaiming her humble roots. She is also remembered for her stage appearance, always modestly dressed, with a bottle of Cognac on stage and a cigarette in her mouth.

Her songs spoke of love, loss, nostalgia and longing. In Sodadeshe calls out for her lover who has gone to a far off land abandoning her—this was something she knew well, with her first love at 16 leaving her to go to Europe and several subsequent ones thereafter, leaving her to raise three children on her own. In Ingrata, she mourned about a daughter who leaves her to go across the ocean—a reality only too real in a country where more than 60% of its population lives outside the country. The Cape Verdean story is one of immigration, separation and longing.

The streets of Mindelo in the island of Sao Vicente in the North of Cape Verde come alive for the first weeks of March every year for Carnival. Sao Vicente is one of 10 islands in Cape Verde, best known as the home of the legendary musician, Cesaria Evora.

The country’s second largest island in terms of population has gone from being a mostly uninhabited island until the mid to late 19th century to becoming a cultural powerhouse attracting thousands of visitors to the country each year.

Officially, carnival in Mindelo, Sao Vicente lasts a week, but locals will tell you Carnival fever begins as early as the end of the previous year. While Sao Vicente’s population is 80,000 people, the league which organized this year’s carnival (LIGOCSV) gave an unconfirmed estimate of as many as 50,000 additional visitors to the island for the carnival. This includes visitors from all the other nine islands in Cape Verde in addition to international visitors and press. The estimate is based on the fact that as early as end of December 2018, most hotels and other accommodation were fully booked. All flights to Sao Vicente were full.

This is the second year the Carnival in Sao Vicente has been organized by the league. It is all part of an ambitious plan to professionalize the carnival bring in more revenue for the country.

Thierno Koite’s memories of Dakar in the 1960s and 1970s are extremely vivid, “I remember falling asleep on the speakers in various clubs in Dakar as Afro-Cuban music played. At that time, I was a young boy, but I would attend my cousin’s and brother’s rehearsals.”

His cousin Issa Cissohko and his brother Moundaga Koite were part of the founding group of the legendary Afro-Cuban band – Orchestra Baobab. He would eventually join the group as an alto saxophonist when he came of age.

“Dakar was where everyone came to make music,” says the septuagenarian. “There was the Liberian musician [Dexter Johnson] one of the members of Star Band of Dakar—the best known Afro-Cuban band in Senegal founded in 1958. There was Barthélémy Attisso who at the time was a Togolese student at the University of Dakar and a guitarist for the Star Band and Orchestra Baobab.”

Thierno reminisces about a time when Dakar was the capital of French West Africa, attracting people from other African countries and from across the diaspora, Malians, Maghrebis, Beninoises, Cubans—everyone bringing their unique musical influence with them.

Music and revolution

While quite a few groups dominated the scene, none was better known than Star Band de Dakar which introduced some of the country’s most legendary musicians including Grammy Award winning artist, Youssou N’Dour. The band’s entire repertoire was Afro-Cuban—a testament to the anti-imperialist ideals of Cuba and the impact it was having in a country that was trying to free itself from colonial rule and the post-colonial sensibilities that came with it.

The 1959 Cuban Revolution brought with it the ambition by Fidel Castro and his administration to aid African nations in the fight against imperialism. He developed diplomatic ties with newly independent African nations—sending professionals (doctors, teachers), aid workers and diplomats to various African countries in the 1970s and 1980s. By 1978, there were approximately 11,000 Cuban citizens living in Sub-Saharan Africa, and also Cuban bands touring the continent.

For the youth at the time, Cuban music offered an opportunity to portray a cosmopolitan way of life, but one that wasn’t built on the French ideas of progress. Rather it was based on their camaraderie with Cuba, a revolutionary country that proudly identified with its black roots and was considered a modern post-colonial society that Senegalese people could look up to as a model.

This music grew and thrived in Medina, the native quarters of Dakar at the time. It found a home in clubs such as Le Miami, a nightclub where Star Club recorded their entire catalog. Sahel was another nightclub that was home to The Sahel Orchestra – another well-known Afro-cuban jazz group of which Thierno Koite is still part of. It was here where they released an Afro-cuban album called Bamba in mid 1970s that was so popular that it cemented Sahel Club’s place as a place that would attract young musicians from all over Dakar looking to experiment with various latin inspired genres.

We left Ouidah by night to head to Cotonou to turn up. One of the strangest things I noticed during our Benin trip was how we gassed up the car. Most times we would pull over to the roadside to a shack sometimes manned by kids with tens of 5 liter bottles and lots of refilled alcohol 1 or 1.5 liter bottles, negotiate for petrol and the fuel would be funneled into the car. . After checking into our Airbnb, we went to a cute little place to eat and watch a Congolese live band. Next stop....the dunda. I had carried full dunda regalia...a cute little blue dress and heels....The little blue dress was one of the victims of the Ghana/African black soap disaster in my suitcase... How did I not start lathering in the club when African black soap met sweat? Let's just say I was not winning at life that night..but I was so fresh and so clean:-)

Anyway, when we got to the club, there were very many people outside....and many of them looked like they were born in the late 90s or early 2000s. Most of the girls were wearing sneakers....Aich...I turned to Cediced Soundiata Keita and asked, "Please don't tell me we're coming to the beach and you let me wear heels and a soapy freakum dress..."But I serve a living God. It was actually a club club...the only little hiccup was that they were throwing a huge Halloween party... Hence all the youth around. Feeling a bit silly having come to a Halloween party as ourselves, while most people were walking around looking like Satan's disciples, we went straight to the bar for drinks. Moving past the dangling skeletons, the snakes made of fabric, the infant corpses that decorated the roof, we finally got to the bar. After a drink, I realized that while this might not have been the party I expected, it was the one I was meant to be at. The music was really really really good! Everyone was happy. Danceoffs were happening at every corner of the place. It turned out to actually be a very very very fun night of dancing and drinking till 4am. As I stood there lathering in my sweat soaked, African black soap infused dress, smiling at the foam snakes as I recalled the lovely afternoon with the pythons of Ouidah, moving past dangling skeletons and spider webs, passing youth with grim reaper costumes as I shook my nyash to Davido beats, I thought to myself....""Cotonou turn up has really not disappointed even if it has taken a different form from what I envisioned."

It began to get really dark and we left as we still wanted to visit Rue des Esclaves (Thé slave route) before leaving Ouidah for Cotonou. I really loved that Rue des Esclaves felt like a living museum. It's not just one particular spot, but a whole few kilometers stretch that ends with the Door of No Return by the Atlantic. Our first stop was at The Forgetting Tree. It was a spot where slaves were first taken. The men were made to go round the tree 9 times and the women 7 times with the objective being to get them confused about where home was, but in reality preparing them for a future where they would never know home, forget their culture and origin and not be able to unite. I know on that long stretch we passed many more heartbreaking monuments, but for me this was the one that really got me...the finality that in one moment one belonged to a certain family, clan, community and suddenly in the next moment, they would be in the middle passage - which if they survived, they would be on their way to endure unimaginable horrors and be broken to not know where home was, who they were, that they once belonged somewhere...have their names taken from them, made to forget their languages, sold and resold till kin and family became a luxury for most.. I mean, I know the word sorry is not strong enough to make up for things of such magnitude, but I want to say that I'm so so sorry for all that the sons and daughters of our continent who were sold off to slavery have endured and I am sorry for the role that we played in allowing this to happen.

As we continued down Rue des esclaves we came across the most beautiful village completely on water. Benin has quite a few of these floating villages. I couldn't help but notice just how beautiful and breathtaking the landscape on rue des esclaves was and reflecting on the fact that for many, this was the last part of the continent they saw.

I was elated to get to my 50th country..my 18th African country - Benin. Better yet, we just walked into Benin from the Togolese-Beninois border. Benin does not need visas for Africans. Amazing, isn’t it? Check out more Africa visa latest updates here.

I experienced so many new and magical things during my Togo-Benin-Ghana trip. A few highlights...Got to Grand Popo, a resort town 20 minutes from the Togo-Benin border on Friday afternoon...Trip was quick, visa process was easy....no visas needed for most Africans coming to Benin. Only hiccup was that my African/Ghana black soap shower gel poured on most of the clothes I came with.... You will soon see why this is important. Spent a lot of beach time in Grand Popo... Lovely lovely views...I might not encourage anyone to dive in wholeheartedly into the ocean though...it has those life threatening waves and currents that I have come to respect and fear from the Atlantic as an Indian ocean typa girl...

Saturday we left for Ouidah - the home of Vodou religion..Forget what Hollywood told you about the religion (poking holes in dolls, hexes etc..) Vodou is a religion primarily practiced by the Fon people of Benin, Nigeria, Ghana and Togo and by people of similar descent in the Americas and Caribbean countries. In Vodou, all creation (plants, animals, objects) are divine and therefore contains the power of the divine. In Ouidah, the pythons of the snake temple are revered and worshipped. I'm not their spokesperson, but they might be the happiest snakes worldwide.. during the day, they roam the city, visit people's houses and are treated with courtesy. At night, they return to the snake temple.

I should add though that I have never been scared of snakes in my life. In fact as a child, I wished to have a pet snake - in addition to the many animals we already had at home. My dad, who also loved all animals... (Mum loves animals, but is terrified of snakes), used to sometimes take me and Wakonyo Kimeria to snake park. He would play with the big snakes and we would get to play with the small ones...So as much as I will go running for the hills if I see a cockroach, grasshopper or cricket....I don't get the same response for snakes. I think they are wonderful. Snake temple was nice. I got to cuddle some pythons, then we went into their main rooms....I loved that our guide knocked before we got in....I think snakes also like a heads up and we took off our shoes as we got into the main snake room housing 50 pythons. Quite curiously, the snake temple is located directly opposite the Ouidah cathedral.

My housemate Salma Ait Hssayene always laughs at me when I tell her that "I had great intentions.... but..." This was one of those days. We had great intentions to leave Lome for Kpalime in the North of Togo by 11am....but....

So we left maybe around 1:30pm and arrived close to 4pm.. On the way we picked Yannick.....everyone Cediced Soundiata Keita speaks to on the phone is called Yannick, but this was a new one. I think his friendship strategy is that if you are called Yannick, you're in:-) Either that or it's a more common name than I thought. This particular Yannick runs Home Made Lomé..Cedric mentioned that he makes the best ragout....For those who do not have refined palates (Wakonyo Kimeria accuses me of this, saying she can't understand how I eat almost the same thing everyday) or those who are not well versed in the culinary arts (including me in that list....I had to ask Cedric what Ragout is once the camera stopped rolling. I guessed he wasn't saying that Yannick makes amazing pasta sauce (Ragu)......Ragout is a french dish of small pieces of meat with lots of vegetables.).

Between Yannick and me, we had enough turn up energy and a few spirits in our bags to make sure we were very entertaining co-drivers to Cedric. There was a cooking competition happening at Kpalime with lots of different Togolese food and drinks companies displaying their stuff. Me and Cedric left shortly thereafter with a fixer to get us to the waterfalls before dark.... Remember that in Togo the sun sets at 6pm.. basically if Cinderella was Togolese, her chariot would have turned into a pumpkin at 5:45pm....Bleehhh..I know Cinderella's curfew had nothing to do with sunset....Anyhooo....

So we get to the first waterfall in 30 minutes.. It's lovely, picturesque, heavenly...pick a word... But pictures speak louder than words. As we are exiting of course there is a guy who appears suddenly to say we need to pay him for our waterfall visit....fealty for the Lord of the Fall. A long debate ensues about "but why exactly do we have to pay you? Who are you if not the Togolese version of the rent-seeking troll under the bridge?" Anyway, a long, drawn out but not very spirited verbal back and forth goes on between him and my friend. "What exactly do you do here at the waterfall?" "I clean it. How dare you question my JD?" "Ok. Where is the JD and the explanation for why I need to pay you even though you have really served no purpose in our Waterfall visit?" "How dare you question me in this way? I will show you proof from my bag that I am indeed entitled to this payment...."

Repeat..

All this to say that there are always people in life trying to reap where they have not sowed.

Anyway...we finally quitted là-bas and continued with our fixer to this other waterfall that he assured us was 10 minutes away. 45 minutes later as our car struggled on this treacherous dirt road, he kept on saying we were 10 minutes away. 5:03pm we arrived at a point beyond which the car could not move. He then said we were 10 minutes walk away. We ended up with a new additional guide who could walk us there. That walk made me think of all the accidental mountain walks I've done. A few years back after a particularly grueling accidental mountain hike near the Uganda-Rwanda border looking to see mountain gorillas, I had vowed "No more mountains!"

Alas... Here I was again...dying as we went uphill and downhill this "10" minute hike trying to make sure to get to the waterfall and be back at the car before the darkness of 6pm. When we did get to the waterfalls, they were lovely, but I couldn't enjoy them fully without the nagging thoughts of how terrible my night vision is, how most of the route back to the car would be uphill i.e. death and hemaing (panting) galore. Suffice it to say, there were many moments on the trip back when I felt like saying "I'm fine, just leave me on this rock to nap a bit. I will catch up later" but my friend wouldn't let me. He held my hand and pulled me up most of the journey back to the car. We got to the car just a few minutes before complete darkness set in.

We went back to the cooking event and now it was a bash featuring Togolese band that plays a fusion of heavy metal, rap, traditional togolese sounds and rock. ARKA'N, afrika hard metal...It was a treat for my ears. We stayed for a few hours during which one of the stalls at this completely free food event fed everyone...for free. When I told Yannick about my surprise after getting all this food and being told it was free, he said "Togo is different." So from my 2 days here, I've concluded that Togolese people love to feed everyone for free.. I'm still trying to figure out the business model as I somewhat guiltily indulge in all this free food. Cedric on his part said, "This is food tasting" as I surprisingly looked at my very very full plate of food and wondered what a "food eating" would look like if this buffet was food tasting.

I got to reflect on this as I sipped on a few free sampler drinks in the next booth operated by a Togolese liquor company NeHo Likors...Yum ... But had I stayed there a few more hours, I might have become a zombie.. Those drinks were strong, but quite tasty. I need to try out their coconut flavour and chocolate-vanilla.

Having supported some local businesses for the day:-), we went to find accommodation for the night and then some food for my friend who had looked at me with amusement as i chowed down the food at the event saying "Ciku...this food is not that great." Maybe Konyo is right..maybe I really don't have a refined palate.

First days in Lome! It was a great Dakar-Abidjan-Lome flight where I bumped into my amazing Ghanaian writer friend Ayesha Harruna Attah who lives in Popenguine....Please please get your copy of The Hundred Wells of Salaga. We got to sit together all the way to Abidjan, laugh, tell stories, video call her cute little baby and eat lots of chocolate at the Abidjan airport.She was on her way back home to Accra then to Lagos for Ake book festival.

I got into Lome at 9:30pm on Thursday night. Was a relatively quick process of getting my 7 day visa on arrival ($35) with option of extending for free if I go to immigration office..an option I pursued given I was crossing road borders into Ghana, Benin and back to Lome. For the millionth time in my travels, I had forgotten my yellow fever card. I had to pay for that. Immigration folks were so friendly..The guy who was writing my new yellow fever card for me asked me if anyone was meeting me at the airport and gave me his phone to call him....The guy who was helping me with the trolley also joyfully offered me his phone to call my friend. I let him know that I had already contacted him. Meeting my friend was great! We're actually quite close now though we've never met in person. We met on Instagram in mid 2017 and have been talking since. Our plans to link up before in ATL or NY (where he lives) never materialized, but we've constantly been in touch. He's Togolese-Congolese and left his banking job in NY to start up Wezon (a travel company looking to serve the African market by providing home rentals, car rentals, guides, tour packages etc.) We greeted each other like old friends. In short, talking to strangers sometimes, might just be the right thing to do....We met up with his amazing girlfriend, swung by his place to say hi to his dad and then me him, and his friend went out for a drink. In the morning we swung by a market Le Marche de Cacaveli to check out the shop of a friend of his (Adjoasika Na Mawu) who used to be a lawyer and left her job to focus on Made in Togo textiles plus some processed foods. Her stuff was lovely (of course i really really really needed another skirt:-)...plus I got to also try out artisanal Togolese chocolate - Chocotogo.. It was quite delicious.... On a side note, at the Abidjan airport, I had also tried out some artisanal Ivorian chocolate ..Mon Choco. I'm loving all these locally produced West African chocolate is also part of a collective of Togolese businesswomen focusing on locally made/sourced textiles, cosmetics and processed foods. They are part of the people whose stuff we will get to sample in Kpalime.

We then left the market to swing by the home in Lome where his dad grew up. Just before getting into the house, we were called across the street by a lady who runs a small food place..it was her daughter's birthday.... maybe 15th or so judging from her appearance and they were on day one of three of street partying. The family had made sandwiches and bought drinks (beers, sodas etc.) which they were inviting anyone passing by the area to partake. That's how we ended up in this street party....yep... such generosity I'm experiencing in Togo! There was a mini-twerk contest at the street party. Lots of great jams were playing including Togo's very own Toofan.

After that we checked out the home my friend's dad grew up in, swung by the beach for a drink and to watch the sunset. At 6pm, it was pitch dark. Can you believe the sun goes down that early in Lome. We went to a restaurant, picked up some food to go, went back to my friend's dad's place (where we were staying.) More food came into the mix. My friend set up a Togolese meal fit for a queen. I ate and ate and ate till I couldn't stand up. As I was passing out on the chair, he was explaining to me what everything was....White sweet ugali (ablo), plantains (amadam), yellow spicy ugali (djenkoume), full grllled tilapia in onions and tomatoes, yovo gboma (egusi), adokoin (fried oysters in a deep fried tomato sauce.. We were to go out partying after that...some place near the beach. Everyone decided to take a one hour nap, from which we woke up the next morning...Next stop…Off to Kpanime.... waterfalls and cooking fest.

The dream of visa-free travel in Africa for Africans is still a dream, but it's changing. Here's what you should know.

If you've ever tried to travel around the continent on an African visa, you know that it can be quite confusing. From having to contact embassies in third countries to obtuse rules at customs. A few years back when I was backpacking through Ivory Coast, Burkina Faso, Togo and Benin, I was asked to provide various documentation from my hosts. This documentation had to be stamped by a high ranking police officer in their countries of residency.

I should mention that I was planning to couchsurf in all these countries. I was also asked to provide proof of bus ticket bookings—despite the fact that you can only get your next bus ticket when you get to a certain city. The administrative hurdles almost made me give up on the trip altogether. The reader will understand why even when I fell terribly ill in Ouagadougou, I was still quite tempted to take the 17 hour bus ride to Lome. After all the money I had spent getting the various visas, the 5+ trips to each of the embassies, only to get a one month single-entry visa, I was not about to cut my trip short.

In 2016, the African Development Bank published the first Africa Visa Openness report. It confirmed what many Africans had always suspected, but never really had numbers to confirm: It's easier for North Americans to travel within Africa than Africans themselves. To be precise, at that time in 2016, Africans needed visas to enter 55 percent of countries on the continent while North Americans only needed them for 45 percent of African countries. In addition, Africans could only get visas on arrival in 25 percent of African countries compared to the 35 percent for North Americans.

Okayafrica rounds up all the important information for the African wanderluster looking to travel on the continent!

Contrary to what you would expect, the strongest African passport for traveling within Africa isn't South Africa, but Kenya. A Kenyan passport can get you to 33 African countries (18 visa free, 15 visa on arrival), compared to 29 countries for an South African passport (16 visa free, 13 on arrival) and 28 for a Nigerian one (17 visa free and 11 on arrival.

You can now easily access up to date information from the AfDB visa openness site that shows which countries you need a visa for, which ones you can get on arrival and which ones you must apply for before travel. The data is available for all African countries and periodically verified with data from The International Air Transport Association. This is a relief! No need to spend hours on the phone trying to reach embassies that might not even be in your country!

While the continent is still a long way from visa free travel for Africans, there have been great improvements in the past 3 years since the first AfDB visa openness report was released. By the end of 2018, Africans on average do not need visas to travel to 25 percent of other African countries (up from 20 percent in 2016), need visas to travel to 51 percent of other countries (down from 55 percent in 2016) and can get visas on arrival in 24 percent of other countries (down from 25 percent in 2016.) In 2016, only Seychelles allowed visa free entry to all Africans. By the end of 2018 Benin also scrapped all visas for Africans. From 2016 to mid 2018, 43 countries improved or maintained their visa openness score. Progress is painfully slow but in the right direction.

The weakest African passports for traveling in the continent are all found in East Africa—Somalia , Eritrea, Sudan, Ethiopia and Djibouti. Somalis get visa free travel only to only 2 countries and visa on arrival in 11, Eritreans (3 no visa, 14 on arrival), Sudanese (2 no visa, 15 on arrival), Ethiopians (4 no visa, 14 on arrival) and Djiboutians (4 no visa, 15 on arrival)\

In his novel Foreign Gods, Inc., critically acclaimed Nigerian novelist, Okey Ndibe, tells the story of Ike, a New York-based Nigerian cab driver who sets out to steal the statue of an ancient war deity from his home village and sell it to a New York gallery. Driven to this point of desperation by a series of unfortunate events in his life as a migrant, Ike hatches a plan to steal this statue that, in modern times, he believes, means little to his people—but one that could fetch him a pretty penny if it gets into the hands of collectors in the West.

I could not help but contrast this image with that of me walking into the new Museum of Black Civilizations in Dakar, flanked by busloads of Senegalese school children eager and excited to see artifacts from around their continent, in their own continent. The fact that African art did not have to leave the continent to be valued is perhaps the most vital aspect of this fabulous new museum.

The museum draws its architectural inspiration from the inner atriums of the homes in the Casamance region in the South of Senegal and the Great Zimbabwe. These houses consist of rooms built in a circle with a round and empty patio in the middle that is used for catching rainwater. This design creates a tunnel of light reaching the center of the building. In the center of the museum is a 40 feet tall steel baobab tree sculpture by Haitian artist, Edouard Duval-Carrié. Inside, the museum is broken down into four sections: The Cradle of Humanity, Continental African Civilizations, Globalization of Africa and Africa Now.

I meet Hamady Bocoum, the museum's director, in his office. He's a seasoned archeologist, researcher and erstwhile Director of the African Institute of Basic Research in Dakar and who speaks passionately about the issues. The work behind the museum, he tells me, began in the 1960s at the encouragement of Senegalese president, Léopold Sédar Senghor—in 2015 the plan was revived and it opened last year with the mandate of being for all people of African origin worldwide.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity

You've said that in the creation of the museum you found it easier to articulate what it shouldn't be rather than what it should be. What is the museum not?

Some of the things we agreed on is firstly, that this would not be a museum on ethnology. Ethnology to us is about westerners looking at Africans—for example, the Masai people are a nomadic… the Hausa are…—rather than us looking at ourselves. The second thing was that this museum would not be an anthropological one. This is because anthropology is what was used to rationalize the concept of race—a concept that has had devastating effects for those outside the power structures, especially black people. Anthropology allowed the enslavement of black people to be legitimized. The third thing we agreed on was that this would not be a subaltern museum.

Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, an Indian scholar, literary theorist, and feminist critic describes subaltern in the postcolonial context as follows: "Western intellectuals relegate other, non-Western (African, Asian, Middle Eastern) forms of "knowing", of acquiring knowledge of the world, to the margins of intellectual discourse, by re-formulating these forms of knowing as myth and as folklore. To be heard and known, the subaltern must adopt Western ways of knowing, of thought, reasoning, and language."]

Our determination to not be a subaltern museum was the reason we did not model the museum on any museums such as the Louvre, Musée d'Orsay or other well known museums. We wanted the museum not to be held to western standards in terms of how it should look. Our museum would traverse the whole story from the origin of mankind to contemporary times.

The overarching sentiment was that the story of black civilizations is a story of humanity. The Manden Charter of the Mandingo people of West Africa was created in the 13th century making it one of the oldest constitutions in the world—albeit oral. It has its first law as "All life is equal." Africans never placed people above animals, trees, lakes or forests. In Africa, when we prayed or ask for forgiveness before killing an animal for food, we did not do this out of superstition. We did it because of our view on humanity.

Africa was the locomotive of human civilization for over 7 million years ago. Colonization was around 550 years of that time period. We want the museum to be representative of African history in its entirety.

What's your favourite story behind how artifacts came to your museum?

When the British destroyed Benin city in 1897 they stole all the masks of the Oba People.These are on display in the British museum. What they didn't know was that there were two copies of each of the masks. The others were with the queen mother who lived outside of Benin City. When she heard that her son, the Oba (King) had been imprisoned, she hid all these masks. We have her collection here on display. They have been available for display in different parts of the world. They recently came from Miami and we will be sending them back shortly to Nigeria.

The recent release of the groundbreaking study by Senegalese economist Felwine Sarr and French historian Bénédicte Savoy calling for the restitution of Africa’s looted assets has sparked debates from the art historians of Paris and London to the museums and cultural centers of Africa’s major cities.

With over 90,000 African artifacts in French museums and thousands more spread throughout different museums in Europe, the debate rages on about whether Africa should be “loaned” back her looted assets and whether we have the ability or interest to safeguard our treasures. This is why the recent opening of the Museum of Black Civilizations in Dakar could not have been more timely.

The massive 14,000 square meters complex has four floors that draw its architectural inspiration from the inner atriums of the homes in the Casamance region in the south of Senegal and from the Great Zimbabwe kingdom. The first thing the viewer is confronted with is the huge baobab sculpture by Haitian sculptor Edouard Duval-Carrié in the middle of the museum. The beloved tree of life is of great cultural, spiritual and historical significance in Senegal with some of the trees being between 1,000 – 2,500 years old and having more than 300 uses.

The museum hopes to represent all black civilizations, but the fact that it is based in Dakar is not mere coincidence. Art lives and breathes in Dakar. With its founding father and the brain-child behind this grand museum – Léopold Sédar Senghor – having been a poet, cultural theorist and leading pan-Africanist thinker, it makes sense that Dakar would be the home of this museum. The literary movement of negritude—a framework of critique and literary theory was developed mainly by Francophone intellectuals, writers, and politicians of the African diaspora during the 1930s. Key among its founders were Senghor, Martinican poet Aimé Césaire and Léon Damas of French Guyana. As such, Dakar is very well-suited to be the continental home of this movement.

There isn’t much that distinguishes Melania Trump’s recent Africa type trip to the continent from previous ones of other Western celebrities or VVIPs. The right photo-ops have of course been taken—solemn photos in the shadows of Ghana’s slave castles, adorable moments with baby elephants in Nairobi, kissing African babies, and being pictured with as many African children as could be squeezed into such a quick trip.

We Africans have watched from the sidelines with mild amusement or a complete disinterest as we play along with the whole performance wondering what the purpose is.

The most newsworthy item of the whole trip though was the US first lady’s “colonial chic” safari outfit that she donned in Kenya (white shirt, jodhpurs, riding boots and of course the offensive pith helmet.) With not much by way of content to inspire the African and international media, some have focused on the ambivalence about her trip. Another key question among fellow Africans I’ve spoken with has been—what was the purpose of her trip? And who was the intended audience? No one seems to know. With little else to talk about, most of what has been written about her trip focuses on her fashion choices.

Perhaps though, this is a moment to focus on the complete irony of this trip in the light of what the Trump administration represents and does. Melania Trump visited quite a few countries that were definitely on her husband’s list of shithole countries. As she lays a wreath at the slave castle in Ghana promising never to forget the hardships of slaves who were shipped across the Atlantic, Trump continues to attack their descendants when they kneel during the national anthem during football games to protest against police brutality, particularly toward African Americans, and racial oppression.

As the first lady gets playfully bumped by baby elephants at the elephant orphanage in my hometown of Nairobi, one can’t help but contrast this with the president’s own sons (Donald Trump Jr and Eric Trump’s) hunting trips to Africa where they get to bump off some wildlife. It also doesn’t help matters that the Trump administration recently lifted an Obama-era ban on elephant trophy imports from Zambia and Zimbabwe.

With her final stop in Egypt —one of the African countries with the highest Muslim populations, one cannot help but think of her husband’s Muslim ban.

As Mrs Trump kisses and hugs black and brown children, one contrasts this scene with that of the Trump Administration taking brown children from their families at the US borders.

A few years back while backpacking across West Africa (Ivory Coast to Benin) I spent a few days in Bobo-Dioulasso, Burkina Faso. I was in the search of mystical catfish found in a river in a small village in this town. My Burkinabe friends in Abidjan had told me about how these catfish were revered by the villagers. I had heard about the elaborate mourning ceremonies whenever any of them died, the multi-day funeral processions. That was how I found myself in this unique village split into four distinct areas for Muslims, Animists, Griots (Storytellers, drummers etc.) and iron-workers.

The groups co-existed with each other though they maintained their own identities and living areas, but they all revered the catfish. A few days into my stay in Bobo-Dioulasso, my couchsurfing host offered to take me to an old beautiful mosque in the city center. Little did I know then that what I was visiting was not just beautiful, but also extremely unique—the largest example of Sudano-Sahelian architecture that you will ever see—a mix of mudbricks, adobe plaster and large wooden-log support beams that jut out from the wall face. I would have left Bobo-Dioulasso without ever seeing this lovely mosque.

A few years earlier in Hargeisa, Somaliland, I visited the Laas geel caves, a side trip from the Hargeisa International Book Fair. Prior to this visit to Somaliland, I had no idea that these lovely caves existed. The prehistoric rock art in the Laas geel caves dates back to between 9000—3000 BC. The rock art is among the oldest found in Africa dating back over 5000 years. This treasure to humanity is not even protected as a UNESCO World Heritage site as Somaliland is not internationally recognized though it has been autonomous and at peace for over 25 years.

These and other experiences have led me to question why Africa is not reaping the full benefits of the value of its cultural elements. How can the African continent, that is home to so many of the world's cultural gems not be benefitting from these assets? And worse still, not even get recognized locally, regionally or globally for all her cultural wealth?

This is one of the key questions that the founder of Forum de Saint-Louis in the northern Senegalese city of Saint-Louis is trying to address.

Saint-Louis was Senegal's capital city from 1673 -1902 and French West Africa's capital from 1895 to 1902, when the regional capital was moved to Dakar. Following independence, when Dakar became the sole capital of Senegal, the city of Saint-Louis experienced a great decline which is in some ways still evident. There was a huge loss of jobs and human potential as investment favored Dakar over Saint-Louis. In 2000, Saint-Louis was named a UNESCO world heritage site as it is rich in over three centuries of history, has a deep cultural heritage, fascinating geography (ensconced between the savanna, the desert, the ocean and a river,) and the city is at the confluence of tradition and modernity, Islam and Christianity, Europe and Africa. Saint-Louis still has a long way to go to capitalize on its UNESCO world heritage site designation and revitalize the city.

When the Guggenheim museum opened up in Bilbao, Spain two decades back, the idea was met with skepticism by many. At the time, Bilbao was an industrial city with signs of urban decay—the museum was to be built in the run-down port area. Within the first year of its opening, the naysayers were proved wrong when tourism revenues to the city grew by 20 percent and jobs in the area multiplied by 7 times. This became known as the Bilbao effect. With the Guggenheim museum and subsequent projects, Bilbao has been transformed to a service city that is strong both socially and economically.

The crowd is buzzing as the unforgiving Dakar sun beats down and the stadium fills past capacity. The air is thick with tension — one fears to step on anyone’s toes. The drums pound louder in anticipation of the historic match that is about to begin. Two loincloth-clad wrestlers prepare in an expansive ring, their feet deep in the sand. Each grappler is joined by a maraboutor two, spiritual guides who lead their men through rituals that, while steeped in traditional culture, also borrow heavily from the mystical Sufi Islamism practiced by most Senegalese.

In the ring is Fodé Doussouba, the 6-foot-2-inch, 330-pound star of traditional Senegalese wrestling sans frappe (without hitting or punching), who has enjoyed an undefeated, 11-year reign. He walks through a wooden loop four times to ward off negative spells.

His opponent is the heavy favorite, Bory Patar, the 6-foot-5-inch, 265-pound champion of wrestling avec frappe (with hitting or punching), the modern, commercial version of the sport that combines elements of wrestling and bare-knuckle boxing. Patar, who is wearing leather charms and amulets, douses himself in an oily liquid handed to him by his marabout — a potion to increase his strength, make him invincible and assure victory.

In the stadium’s seat of honor sits a regal man in a grand boubou — Bassirou Diagne Marème Diop. In a few decades he’ll become Le Grand Serigne de Dakar, the leader of the Lebou people, fishermen who are the original inhabitants of the region. For now, in 1961, he’s a rogue wrestling promoter who has rigged the match between old and new, giving the fighters different contracts that require each to compete in his own style, while filling the stadium with fans hungry to see what type of fight it turns out to be.

Diop rushes into the ring and loudly berates Patar. “Why did you hit him? You know this match is meant to be a traditional wrestling match — no punching!” As he walks away, though, he whispers to Patar: “Next time, hit him harder.”

4, 3, 2, 1 — wrestle!

Bam!

This time, realizing he’s been tricked, Doussouba reaches for a big stick and uses it to beat Patar. The event descends into chaos as the fans start fighting in the stands. The match is stopped, but a winner can be declared: the modern style. From that point on, the dominant wrestling in Senegal is avec frappe.

Taking a dip in the longest freshwater lake in the world can be both dangerous and thrilling. If you search “swimming in Lake Tanganyika,” one of the top results is about a 70-year-old man-eating crocodile named Gustav. But there is much more to Lake Tanganyika — which is 410 miles long and runs across Tanzania, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Burundi and Zambia — than hungry reptiles.

In the west of Burundi, in a remote and isolated town known as Rumonge, the shores next to the Blue Bay Resort are covered in white sand. The area is free, thankfully, of crocodiles and hippos. Lake Tanganyika is in the western branch of East Africa’s Rift Valley and is surrounded by mountains that make the views — both in and out of the deep water — spectacular. You might just forget that you are in a landlocked country. With fishermen in rowboats in the distance, it’s like time is standing still.

Jumping off the pier into the bluest, clearest (non-crocodile-infested) waters is a refreshing break from the heat. The water is the perfect temperature, rejuvenating but not too cold, and so clear you can see to the bottom of the lake without the sting of salt in your eyes. The water is very calm — no waves or tides. There are more than 350 fish species, 250 of which are rare cichlids, most of which can only be found in Lake Tanganyika.

Located an hour’s drive from the capital city, Bujumbura, this idyllic area is sheltered from the political instability that has dragged on since April 2015, when the country’s president, Pierre Nkurunziza, clung to power for a third term, defying the country’s constitution. Still, things have improved and tourists are returning. “This year, the political situation has been very calm, good for our business and we are getting back on our feet,” says Joseph Furaha, Blue Bay’s executive manager. By 2016, most international tourists had stopped visiting Burundi, but political and constitutional solutions are being sought and there has been a reduction in protests. Most foreign nationals still need to apply for visas before arriving in Bujumbura; check with authorities before planning a visit.

On a recent visit to Lagos for a fashion show, veteran supermodel Naomi Campbell called on leading global fashion magazine to start an Africa edition and it’s sparked a bit of debate in Africa’s fashion circles about whether the region really needs Vogue or if Vogue needs Africa. There’s also been some talk about Africa designers and followers doing more to support homegrown fashion publications.

One thing that people on all sides of the debate seem to agree on though is that fashion in Africa is a vibrant, diverse space that does not get enough recognition for how it has influenced global trends. Those who are for Vogue starting an Africa edition believe that it will give the continent’s fashion industry the global visibility it deserves to foster its growth.

Those who are apprehensive about the move fear that Vogue will represent African fashion in a way that only exoticizes and fetishizes African fashion but to the benefit of the West without any real benefits accruing to the cultures and designers who have been responsible for creating and growing Africa’s fashion legacy.

Either way, Vogue would be playing catch-up as African fashion is alive, well and constantly reinventing itself. All one needs to come to this conclusion is simply walk through the streets of Dakar, Addis, Lagos, Nairobi or Accra or “visit” them on Instagram. The appeal of the fashion publication that Anna Wintour revolutionized and the fact that Vogue UK now has a British-Ghanaian editor (Edward Enninful) who is keen to diversify the publication—and in fact masterminded the 2008 all black Vogue Italia top-selling edition—might still not be enough reason for us to believe that a Vogue for Africa is what we need.

When Anta Babacar Ngom Bathily was appointed to be the new director-general of Senegal’s leading poultry company, she was hesitant at first. “I asked myself, why me?” she says. Even though she had risen through the firm by virtue of her hard work, dedication and an intricate knowledge of the sector, she had doubts as a young woman in a male-dominated field.

Bathily’s experience is not uncommon amongst female leaders. While almost everyone suffers from impostor syndrome to some extent, its effects tend to be more strongly felt by women. An often-quoted figure is that men will apply for a job if they meet 60% of the criteria, but women apply only if they meet 100% of them.

It is easy to say that women simply need to gain in confidence, but the reality is that women are not treated equally. In a recent study in the US, researchers found that male and female entrepreneurs were asked different kinds of questions when applying for investment. Two-thirds of questions asked to men were about potential gains and plans for success; two-thirds of questions asked to women were about risks and testing whether they had “done their homework”.

This reveals an implicit belief that women cannot lead or must at least be held to much higher standards. It was this conditioning that prompted Bathily’s self-doubt. According to her, it took a real mental effort to shift from thinking “Why me?” to “Why not me?”

“Yes, I am young, a woman, black, African,” she says. “But I have every right to lead as much as anyone else.”

Hurdles and ceilings

The hurdles for women advancing up an organisation are many and well-documented. At the recruitment level, women are frequently passed over in favour of men with the same or lower qualifications. They earn less for doing the same job, get promoted less often, are given less credit for their work, and are awarded fewer second chances than their male colleagues. Furthermore, women who are not appropriately demure or self-effacing are often considered “unfeminine” or aggressive.

Creating an un-level playing field is not just bad for women. A 2007 study of 520 companies found that firms with the highest proportion of female board members far outperformed those with the lowest. The quarter of companies with the best female representation on their boards generated a 42% higher return on sales, 53% higher return on equity, and 66% higher return on invested capital than those with the poorest representation of women.

Correlation does not mean causation, but companies with more female decision-makers are likely to have more inclusive workplace cultures, policies, and programmes to support meritocratic employee advancement. Having more female representation also attracts more qualified women by demonstrating that the company is a place where their ambitions are rewarded. All this in turn has an effect on the bottom line.

To read the full article please click the link to access African Arguments

There has been increasing interest to unearth and understand Africa’s photographic history in recent years. Whether this is driven by the growing treasure trove of black and white images from the continent resurfacing; a need to dispel myths about what Africa is and is not; or a growing interest in photography for storytelling purposes in the Instagram-obsessed age, this journey promises to be an interesting one.

The latest treasure to be revealed on that journey is the Saint-Louis Photography Museum in Saint-Louis, Senegal, which opened last November. The museum hopes to eventually build an extensive collection of historic portraits, but has started off with the impressive personal collection of its founder, Amadou Diaw, a Senegalese businessman and founder of Groupe ISM, one of the region’s most respected business schools. The striking collection, mostly dating from 1930 to 1950, highlights the country’s rich and deep photography tradition.

Many of the most well-known photographs from West Africa were captured by Malick Sidibe, an internationally renowned photographer from Mali who captured iconic black and white images of the region in the 1950s, 60s, and 70s. Sidibe died in April 2016. But the history of photography in West Africa stretches further back. It begins in the coastal town of Saint-Louis in the north of Senegal, where a photo camera, believed to be the first to be used in West Africa (link in French), was sent by the French Minister of Marine and Colonies in 1863.

Saint-Louis was a leading urban center established by French traders in the 17th century. To maintain their stronghold, French colonists relied heavily on the establishment of a metis (mixed race) society. This society was born out of a union of French traders or soldiers (who usually had their own families in France) marrying local women (usually of a high class) to further their business interests. These women and their female descendants, known locally as the Signares, are an important part of Saint-Louis’ culture and history.

Having slept at my friends Airbnb the night before because of a small homelessness situation, I woke up at 8am to check if I could head home to pack, but discovered that we were still locked out of our Airbnb. I slept again and woke up at 2pm -keys still had not yet been sent. I did the logical thing – I went to kill time shopping. As I was shopping, I got a panicky call from Mouna – the hosts had sent over the keys at 2:30pm but expected us out of the apartment at 3pm as they had new people coming in and needed the place cleaned. I was annoyed to say the least. Of course it was just an act of nature that the key had refused to work and we had been locked out of our Airbnb….but the hosts surely must have realized what an inconvenience this was. Mouna and Nguhi had to pay for a hotel room. I was lucky in that I crashed at my friend’s place. But after all that, how could you rush us out of the apartment? I was downtown, my stuff was spread out throughout the apartment….because well…I’m messy. That’s the life I live. I open my backpack and throw everything around. That's who I am. I did not choose this life. This life chose me.

I rushed from downtown like a madwoman with all myshopping. Poor Mouna had to pack my backpack as she was been given pressure to make sure all our stuff was out of the apartment before 3pm. She had a flight to catch. I finally made it home – managed to give Mouna a giant hug as I found her with my backpack on the corridor as she waited to leave for the airport. I packed the rest of my shopping on the corridor – as we now could not get back into the apartment. I was flustered. All these changes cut into the day I thought would be a peaceful day with only an evening flight to worry about.

Backpack packed. Running with giant backpack to get to the train station. Knees rattling because of how heavy my giant backpack is. I had gone a bit overboard with gift-buying on that final day.

I had put all my remaining yen into a train ticket that I thought would get me all the way to the airport….only to realize that the ticket I needed was a different one. Having changed trains twice and this giant backpack killing me, I kinda felt like the world was conspiring against me when I discovered that I needed to buy a new train ticket – which was sold 2 or 3 levels down….which when you’re carrying a backpack is the equivalent of being told you need to walk to Timbuktu. I got to the counter and was told the ticket would cost me ~$4. I had only $2 in cash as I had put all the money into the other ticket thinking it was the one I needed. The lady told me that I could find an ATM 2 levels up. She did not seem amused when I was pulling out Kenya shillings and Nairas from my wallet asking if I could top up the $2 with those.

Struggles with backpack. Walks back to Mecca (ATM) from Timbuktu (ticket counter) and the minimum amount one can withdraw from the ATM was $100.

FML!

I contemplated begging at the train station for $2, but I realized that I would only be giving Africans a bad reputation….So I took out $100 in Yen because I needed $2. I trudged back to Timbuktu from Mecca, paid for my ticket. I finally got on this train, but I was a nervous wreck as I don’t understand Japanese and was still not 100% sure that I was on the right train until I finally got to the airport at 7:30pm for my 9pm flight.

And with that I bid farewell to Japan! Such a wonderful, crazy, intense trip. Thanks Natsuno!!

Saying this was going to be a busy day is the understatement of the year. In the morning, I took a train with Nguhi to go see the big budhaa at Kamakura.

The Great Buddha of Kamakura is a bronze statue of Amida Buddha, which stands on the grounds of Kotokuin Temple. It’s 13.35m in height and is the second tallest bronze Budhaa statue in Japan, surpassed only by the statue in Nara's Todaiji Temple. It was built in 1252 and similar to most budhaas in Japan, it was inside a large temple hall. A series of typhoons and tidal waves in the 14th and 15th centuries destroyed the temple buildings and the Budhaa has been in open air since 1495. Kamakura used to be the capital of Japan in the 12th and 13th century.

After Kamakura, we went to meet the rest of the #mirozinjapan for a night boat cruise in Yokohama.

Yokohama was one of the first Japanese ports opened to foreign trade, in 1859. It contains a large Chinatown with hundreds of Chinese restaurants and shops. Before the cruise, a few of us ate in Chinatown. The cruise was lovely in a strange way – most such cruises are about seeing nature, but we were intentionally going to see factories and industrial areas of Japan😊.

One would think that the day was complete, but not at all. That evening #mirozinjapan were hosting a party in a club where drinks and snacks from our different countries would be served. We had all carried a few unique items from our various countries. My contribution had mostly been in the form of tuskers and sesame bars. After the night’s partying, I got a second wind. I would be leaving Tokyo on the next night and I knew that this particular night would be my only chance to give Tokyo my all.

Party plans were also aided by the fact that I overstayed at the “La petite Dakar a Tokyo” party and missed the last train home. You should have seen Kabura and I running like mad women to catch that train only to find it had left us. Having given up on getting home affordably, partying all night sounded like a great alternative. Ben and I ended up going to Roppongi and finding a bar with a Kenyan owner. We were welcomed like long lost relatives. I love my Kenyan people! Especially when traveling – it feels as if you’re home when you bump into other Kenyans. We stayed there then finally ended up at an all-you-can-drink bar. It was all-you-can-drink for women, but I believe we got in and I sneakily shared drinks with Ben. Then I got a message from my roomies that the key to our Airbnb was not working and they had all gone to get hotel rooms for the night. I knew that partying had been divine intervention as I would have been in a similar homeless situation. I was lucky to be able to spent the night at Kabura’s Airbnb - which we staggered into at 4am.